


Babes a Predator. Wade doesn't mind.

by RaberandBee



Category: Marvel
Genre: M/M, Marvel Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sensory Sensitive, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaberandBee/pseuds/RaberandBee
Summary: Peter is only a little paranoid.Some might say... a stalker, but Wade doesn't need to know that.(literally remembered commerical jingles and sang 'em in my head at work and decided this. It's trash.)





	Babes a Predator. Wade doesn't mind.

"R-E-E, that spells free credit report dot com baby! Saw their ad on my TV, though about it but was too laz- Babyboy!" 

"Deadpool..." I groan internally- maybe a little externally, too- mentally begging the damn merc to leave without another word.

"Whatcha' doin' curled up all like that for Spideybaby? Ya' hurtin'? Got cramps? Need some Midol and chocolate? I can bring ya' salt and bananas. Tampon or pads?" The red clad doof that near constantly reeks of burnt gun oil and Mexican food leans into my line of sight. 

"I'm a guy, 'Pool. I don't have periods." I groan out trying to ignore the light post's bright attacks. 

"Hey now, guys can have periods. S'nothin' to be ashamed of. What's up cutiekins? I don't smell blood, or not on you anyway," he stops to take a whiff at his arm "-I am a different story. And you don't seem too sick. You don't look poisoned."

"'Pool... Stop -hng! Talk-ing. Stop." The sounds of his vocal scar tissue rubbing together to form a gruff but cheery tone is grating. I mean, he doesn't have a bad voice. Odd, but not bad. In fact, I normally enjoy his odd ramblings, but now is not the time. Now is a time I can hear voices so loud they mesh into sounds. The ambient noise bounces off the bricks and swim in my head. The patter of rats scuttling, motors running, horns honking, outlets buzzing. It all melds and pulses in my brain. I leaves my teeth clattering as they search for something to chew on that feels 'juust right'. I need a rhythm or feeling. A taste or texture. I need something perfect to distract away from the overwhelming intensity of my hearing. Not so much hearing as vibrations. Some, like myself, would argue that is the same thing. In this case, my hearing is actually more of my fine hair from my spider genes that liter my body, picking up everything it possibly can. 

Including the rapid movements of Pool's hands. I squint my eye open and look to where the merc is sitting just outside my hideyhole's looming shadows. Close but not too close that I am feeling cornered. 

Even with his mask, I can read his expression perfectly. His brows pinched together, head tilted, eyes squinted... He points at me and signs something quickly and points to me again. 

"Don't know sign, 'Pool." I hiss again as he unzips his blackhole of a pouch and pulls out a  _Lisa Frank_  notepad and a Hello _Kitty_ pen. 

'Are you  ~~auti~~ okay?' It read. He scribbled it out, the metal ball in the tip rolling noisily. 

'How do I help? :(' 

"Sense overload... Hearing--- Ehn! aid broke," my speech broke with a sharp jolt, my chest spazzing and body convulsing quickly as someone scraps their fork across their plate and chews with their mouth open, smacking their tongue and food against the roof of their mouth. I almost vomit. Noise can be near as bad as texture. 

"Give it to me?" he whispers ever so sweetly. If I hadn't know Pool for two years and had him patrol with me near every few nights for the last few months, I would have near divulged that information nor handed him one of my hearing aids. Not even a little bit. But I had. Because while he hasn't stopped his morally ambiguous ways, he has chosen help over drowning himself in suicide, death, and insanity. He holds back murder as a last option, but he still saves the little people. Hell, he may never be the perfect hero, but he is more honest about his faults that any other Advenger. Tony with his obvious vanity and pride.. Basically emotionally constipated. Cap with his denile of self and self rightious attitude. Hawkeye and his neglect to his family and commitment issues. Though they do try to fix it, they still rarely own up. I take that back, Clint did go back to his family. He did fix his mistake, but Deadpool... He can't be judged. Not even Ghost Rider can judge him. That news set silence over the heros who cower in fear Ghost rider would one day prove them to be pathetic like most of our insecurities force us to think. 

In the mists of my distracted thoughts, Pool had fixed my aid and placed it on the ground. I shakily grabbed it, trying to not instinctually hide my issues from him. My mask is already up over the tip of my nose. I lift it enough to access my ear, I place it in, plastic disturbing the hair follicles. 

I almost expected my aid to blare a screeching ring or something, but it just started normally, effectively muting out some difficult to handle noises. My suit normally would handle the hairs on my skin, but since my hearing had gone haywire, I lost some control of the folicles. I can feel them become dorment waiting to pick up on something dangerous. 

With the aids, I can still hear up to more than a ten mile radius, but I am not picking up every noise possible. 

It'll still take a bit to recover. A bit to pick up on my other senses. I nod my head and tap my ring finger on my palm. Something repeatative and calming. I almost didn't realize I was doing it. It became a habit to keep repetative movement since the spider bite. A lot of things became habits when I adjusted to the overwhelming senses. 

"Babyboy? You good?" 

I slowly look up, I near forgot him, but his voice is too familiar to be jolted by, especially without my Spidey Senses.

"Thanks..." He keeps eye contact with me dispite the twitching his neck and right shoulder makes.

"You good?" I ask in return, curious about his twitch. 

"Yeah, Yellow is yellin' 'gain about you being an easy target. You really shouldn't just be all vulnerable and what not in fron'a me, red" 

"You're red, too. And you fixed my aid.. and do very well on patrols. Not murdering an' all. I think I can afford to give a little, too." I shrug ignoring the fact I have a journal cover to cover filled with the merc in the midst of my paranoia. Having done this for years and being screwed over so long.. I may have become obsessive with extensive background checking. 

But I can add sensitive to other's mental disabilities, can sign ASL, and has plenty of knowledge of a menstral cycle the still growing list. Oh, can't forget 'Can fix hearing aids!'

"I am, aren't I? But I am black and red! You are blue and red, ooh! Can I call you blue?" His normal cheerful tone is satisfying again.

"Go for it." I find myself saying, "Thanks for the help, Red. Let's get patroling."

"Lead the way blue!" 


End file.
